“The world’s in a state of chassis,” to paraphrase that great, unforgettable actor whose name I can’t quite remember right now. At least, that’s the thought that struck me while entering Eamonn Doran’s Theatre in Dublin’s Crown alley (ex-Rock Garden) to see Shoot, If You Must.

Why? Because this Judy Friel-directed revue stars the likes of Shay Healy, Nell McCafferty, Eamonn McCann, John Waters and Zrazy. So, what to expect? All moving against type? McCann singing a unionist song; Waters cracking a joke; Healy ceasing to plug ‘What’s Another Year’; Nell McCafferty blowing kisses at a picture of the Pope and Zrazy singing ‘Mad About The Boy’?

Not exactly. But anyone expecting that kind of bizarre night wouldn’t have been too far off the mark, as these eight “artists” took to the stage to deliver dissertations on subjects of their choice. And, how did the evening begin? Why, on the subject of life and death, of course – the latter described by Shay Healy as “nature’s way of saying ‘tough shit’.” Shay then shifted into what seemed like an Irish variation on Brel’s ‘Funeral Tango’ before offering satirical rewrites of ‘Addicted to Power’ – which was aimed right between the legs of Fianna Fail – and ‘Let’s Do It’, which had the wholly preposterous line “rock musicians using coke do it.”

Nell focused on the problem which is clearly paramount now in relation to Northern Ireland – those people involved in the peace process who have become “victims of fashion”. Dressed in her jeans and pink bomber jacket, this description clearly didn’t apply to our Nell. Her revisionist view of the working class also clearly reflects the latest fashion among parties like Labour, who obviously believe “the working class are not the salt of the earth, they are the salt upon the wounds with which we are born.” Quite right, quite right.

Eamonn McCann also soared into the realms of the absurd, when he – clearly jokingly – suggested that “Matt Russell is a member of Opus Dei” and that this was the sole reason for the seven month delay in securing an extradition order for that “filthy pederast” you-know-who. McCann also levelled some neatly aimed jabs at “bollix’d bishops, who love more people than they should” and Dick Spring “the Dork.” Great stuff.

John Waters, on the other hand, was less effective as a Beckett-like absurdist eating a bikkie, drinking mineral water and reciting prayers to market forces. “Doheny and Nesbitt, pray for us”? Speaking mostly in Irish, Ronan Mac Aodha Bhui obviously connected with only a small section of the audience while Cindy Cummins, in mime, beautifully subverted the Irish National Anthem. Pom Boyd capped it all with a hilarious monologue from a Dublin “biddie”. And Zrazy performed a song which took us back to a “drunken night in the dark recesses of Frank McGuinness’ mind”. Obviously. His lyric presents Mother Ireland as a fuck-able female force!

The show needs to be tightened and some of the “artists” clearly need to re-think their dissertations. That said, this was a fucking weird evening that shows at least the potential to develop into memorable theatre, on a small scale. Shoot, If You Must could – and should – be toured to small venues.

Recommended: ‘Don’t Dress For Dinner’, universally described as an “hilarious farce” settles into the Regency Hotel in Whitehall after clocking up more than 200 performances on tour in 1994. It opened January 23rd. On February 8th The Duty Master, by Neil Donnelly, opens at the Peacock theatre and is directed by Ben Barnes. Set in an English public school, it focuses on how Irishman Patrick O’ Rourke has become “more English than the English themselves.” For Patrick Mason’s sake, one hopes this is a success – and that it will in turn make him less paranoiac about the Press.